Redhawk's Heart Page 4

  “Yes, she is,” Ashe answered softly. “I’ll look into that angle.”

  She saw the raw pain and worry mirrored in his eyes and her heart ached in sympathy. “I know you suspect that this whole case has something to do with Fox’s past,” Casey said gently. “But if her disappearance and the murders are related at all, I think it’s more likely to have something to do with her present. On the other hand, it may be awkward for you to look into her personal life. If at any time you want to turn the investigation over to another officer, I’ll understand.” She saw the flash of anger in his eyes and knew his determination was unshakable.

  “My priority is finding Fox. I’ll do whatever’s necessary to accomplish that.”

  His words chilled her. They’d been a warning, or maybe even a threat. Though judging people was usually one of her strengths, Casey was having an unexpectedly tough time reading Det. Ashe Redhawk. “Okay. So we’re set,” she said, looking over at the captain, whose face was impassive. “Detective Redhawk will concentrate on Fox. He knows more about her and her habits than I do. I’ll work on the murders.”

  For a brief moment her mind flashed back to the Johnson home and the woman who’d died there in her arms. Alice Johnson’s sorrow as she’d begged Casey to relay a final goodbye to her children had touched Casey deeply. She would catch the killer—for that woman’s sake and for her own. Only then would she be able to put that memory aside and go on.

  As she looked at Ashe’s face, Casey wondered how she would have coped if someone close to her had been murdered. Her own mother’s death from cancer had been devastating enough. Casey had only learned of her illness at the end. She’d returned home immediately but, by then, it had been too late to do anything except say goodbye. And yet, memories of their final moments together had helped Casey cope in the aftermath. Ashe had been robbed of even that small comfort.

  As an awkward silence settled over the room, Ashe walked to the door. “It’s late. I’d better see what can be done tonight and then arrange to get an early start tomorrow.” While he stepped around Prescott and strode out of the room, Casey’s gaze remained on him. Ashe was a remarkable man by anyone’s standards. Everything about him spoke of purpose and power.

  “Detective Redhawk has a good idea,” she said. “I think we’d all better call it a night and plan on an early start tomorrow.”

  IT WAS A LITTLE PAST 9:00 a.m. when Casey met Captain Todacheene in his office. Prescott walked in right behind her. The man seemed destined to continue popping up everywhere on this case. Casey had learned that Prescott had been appointed to replace a D.A. who had resigned, and was now working overtime to prove he should keep the district attorney’s job. He obviously thought a big-news murder investigation—solved, of course—was going to be his ticket to winning the upcoming election.

  “Captain, I don’t want to interrupt you this morning,” Casey said, “so if you’ll just point me to the evidence room, I’ll be out of your way.”

  “I’ll take you there,” Todacheene offered.

  Casey followed him, noting with irritation that Prescott had opted to come along with his little notebook. The captain led the way to a makeshift chicken-wire-and-wood-frame caged area at one end of the station.

  Casey looked around. “You don’t have a full-time clerk here?”

  “It isn’t needed. And if you’re worried about losing evidence from the crime scene, don’t. Nobody here would tamper with anything from a murder scene, even if the area was completely unlocked. What belongs to the dead, or is associated with them, is never at risk here.” The captain stepped back and allowed them to enter. “There are many things you don’t understand about our people,” Todacheene added, then glanced at Prescott. “That goes for most Anglos.”

  “The same law applies here as it does outside the Rez,” Prescott said flatly. “I’ve lived in the Southwest all my life, and I don’t buy into this Hollywood Indian stuff.”

  “Nor do I,” Todacheene replied with a mirthless smile. “But on the Rez, things progress at a different pace and are guided by rules you may not understand.” He met Casey’s gaze. “Trying to ignore that would be a big mistake.”

  And a costly one, too, no doubt. She knew she was being warned not to underestimate the disadvantage being an outsider placed on her here.

  As she signed in and waited for Captain Todacheene to bring out the physical evidence that had been collected at the Johnsons’, Casey’s thoughts turned to Ashe. She wished she had met him under different circumstances. She suspected that getting to know him would have been a challenge and a pleasure they both might have enjoyed.

  Slowly, the meager evidence was laid out before her, including plaster casts of motorcycle and boot tracks, and shell casings. The cigarette butts, fibers and hair samples had already been mailed to the state crime lab in Santa Fe.

  Casey sat down and began the painstaking task of using both intuition and knowledge to study the scanty evidence and listen to the story it had to tell. Prescott soon left and as the hours passed, she used all her training to glean what information she could. As she stared at the address book, the last piece of evidence, a new idea formed in her mind. Only a few pages had been taken. Maybe the Johnsons had told their killer something about the people listed on those missing pages, and he had taken them in hopes of finding Katrina.

  Done with her work there, Casey signed out and went to her car. Alone in her vehicle, she picked up her cell phone and dialed the one source she intended to keep secret from everyone involved for as long as it took to find the killer.

  Less than fifteen minutes later, she was on her way east, heading toward the long, rocky ridge known as the Hogback. As the early-afternoon sun baked the desert, leaving increasingly longer shadows, she was struck by the starkness of the land that surrounded her. Things were different out here; the captain was right about that. To her, the landscape looked like aerial photos of Mars—red and barren. But human nature was the same everywhere, as were motives for murder. Understanding that was her advantage in this harsh, unfriendly place.

  Miles outside the Reservation boundary she found the apartment house she was looking for, in a semirural housing area north of the river. The three-story building, crammed on a small lot, sorely needed a coat of paint and some landscaping improvements. Each apartment, she noticed, at least had a small fenced-in area outside a sliding-glass door. The second and third stories had small balconies.

  She glanced around the weed-infested, graveled parking area. Only a few cars were there, though she was uncertain whether that indicated a small number of residents, or if the tenants were mostly single or worked days.

  She went inside the building and up the dim stairs. The hallway on the third floor had only an exit sign at each end for illumination.

  In one of the apartments, a radio was playing loudly. Mournful lyrics about a jilted truck driver rose above the guitars of a country-western band.

  Looking around for a light switch, she found one. She was about to turn it on when a flicker of light through an open door at the end of the dark hall caught her attention.

  Her senses warned her of danger, and Casey decided not to risk announcing her presence by turning on the lights. She unclipped the strap that held her weapon secure in its holster, and approached cautiously, verifying the apartment number. As the light from inside flickered again, Casey realized that what she was seeing was the beam of a flashlight crossing the room.

  Casey glanced down and saw that the lock on the door had been forced open. Drawing her pistol, she prayed she wasn’t about to stumble on another murder scene. Her heart sounded like a kettle drum in her own ears as she eased the door open a bit farther and stepped inside. She’d just cleared the door when a large hand snaked out and covered her mouth. Before she could react, she was pulled backward until both she and her assailant were out in the hallway.

  Imprisoned against a rock-hard chest, Casey stepped down hard on the man’s instep. She knew it was a painful move, but her assailant didn’t even flinch.

  “Stay still,” an instantly recognizable whisper-soft voice said. “It’s me.”

  She nodded. She was curious as to what had brought him here, but there was no chance to ask now.

  Ashe didn’t ease his hold. His massive hand also covered her nose, making it nearly impossible for her to breathe. She elbowed him hard in the stomach.

  This time, he let go.

  She gasped for air. “I couldn’t breathe!” she whispered.

  “Be quiet,” he answered quietly, “or both of us are likely to end up short of breath. The guy in there is armed.”

  Chapter Three

  Ashe continued to press her against him, his arm wrapped around her waist. Her senses, always acute in the presence of danger, now urged her to recognize an awareness of a different kind. His warm breath touched her cheek, and as she felt the hardness between his thighs where their bodies touched, a shiver coursed through her. She knew then, without a doubt, that the attraction she felt for him was not one-sided.

  He released her slowly and, she imagined, almost reluctantly. They both knew the danger of allowing any distraction in a hazardous situation, but, despite that, something had sparked to life between them. Denying it wasn’t an option; putting it on hold was a necessity.

  Ashe stepped around her and nodded toward the apartment door. Working as a team, they entered the small living room slowly, weapons drawn.

  As Casey stepped closer to the bedroom door, off to the right, she caught sight of their quarry. She signaled to Ashe. Someone tall—a man possibly—was moving around in the darkened room, wearing yellow rubber gloves and carrying a flashlight in his left hand. She could make out the shape of a pistol he’d shoved in the waistband of his pants. She saw him open a small dresser and search it with the swift precision of an experienced burglar. Just then the country-western ballad playing on the radio ended, and the burglar stopped, looking around and listening. Casey and Ashe froze in place. As the radio station started a commercial, the burglar resumed his search.

  Ashe crept forward, merging with the shadows along the walls provided by the heavy drapes. She shifted direction, to be ready to give him backup, and stepped on something soft. A loud screech caused them both to jump, and a terrified cat ran past them, out into the hall.

  The intruder bolted upright, and caught sight of Casey and Ashe blocking his exit.

  “FBI! Put your hands up!” she yelled.

  Instead of complying, the intruder slipped through the drapes and out onto the balcony. Casey tried to get a good look at him, though he was wearing a ski mask, but the curtain blocked the view from inside. She glanced at Ashe, who held up his hand, signaling her to hold her position. They couldn’t see the burglar, and an armed, point-blank confrontation on a balcony was too dangerous.

  “You’re three stories up with no place to go. Put down your pistol and come back inside, slowly, and with your hands up,” Ashe ordered. “You’re trapped and outgunned.” He moved around the bed toward the curtain pull along the wall.

  Casey heard wood creaking and, as the curtain moved aside, saw the man step toward the balcony railing. She shot forward to stop him. “Ashe, he’s going to jump.”

  Slipping through the open sliding-glass door, Casey grabbed the perp’s jacket with one hand as she shoved her pistol into its holster with the other. The man laughed, then stepped off the edge, yanking her with him as he fell.

  Casey managed to grab the wood railing with her free hand, and still maintain her hold on his jacket. They were both dangling, but the perp had the advantage. He was closer to the ground.

  Ashe grabbed her wrist, supporting her grip on the railing.

  With a chuckle, the burglar lifted his arms straight up and the jacket slipped right off him. Casey had no way to stop him as he dropped down onto a patio table twenty feet below.

  Still dangling from the railing, but with no desire to pursue the intruder at the present, Casey tossed the captured jacket up onto the balcony, then tried to swing around to get a two-handed grip on the railing.

  Her wrist ached and she couldn’t seem to pull herself high enough to get the second handhold she needed. Ashe’s iron grip kept her from falling. “I’m still here. You’re not going to fall.” He shifted his anchoring grip farther down her arm and leaned over to reach for her other hand. “Grab on to me.”

  “No, it’s too dangerous,” she managed, her voice breaking. “I could pull you over.”

  Her legs dangled uselessly as she struggled again to grab the railing, but her fingers slipped as she tried to get hold of the wood.

  “I’ve got you. Reach for my other hand, not the railing.” Ashe’s voice was filled with authority, and his grip on her was steady. “You’ve got to trust me. I’m here for you.”

  His voice flowed over her like a golden river. Yet it was meeting his eyes that finally broke through her fear. What she saw there was the courage and determination of a real flesh-and-blood warrior.

  His grip never wavered as she reached up with her other hand to grasp his free hand. All his strength was there for her now. He pulled her up slowly.

  When at last she was back on the balcony, he pulled her into his arms and held her. She pressed her face against his chest, feeling his heart thumping in a wild rhythm that matched her own.

  Casey held on to him tightly. His body was strong and solid, a haven against the fear that had imprisoned her seconds before. Fiery emotions flickered to life within her as a raw awareness of the man holding her swept over her. As if sensing the needs he’d awakened in her, Ashe twisted her hair around his fist and pulled her head back, then lowered his mouth to hers.

  Fire danced in her veins as she welcomed the kiss, opening herself to it. He was life at its best—intense, unpredictable and wild. His tongue filled her mouth, warming her with a heat that rivaled the desert sun’s. As his lips slanted back and forth across hers, taking and giving her pleasure, her thoughts became nothing more than a jumble of sensations.

  Casey rubbed her hand over his chest. His flesh was hard, yet smooth. She heard him groan as she caressed him; then, a breath later, he slowly eased his hold.

  Ashe stepped back and looked at her. Passion raged in his eyes. “You’re too much of a temptation, lady. I would apologize,” he said slowly, “but I enjoyed kissing you too much to mean it.”

  “What makes you think it wasn’t my idea to kiss you?” Casey countered with a hesitant smile. She could still feel the warmth of his kiss, and taste him on her lips.

  He gave her a lopsided grin that tempted her to step into his arms again. But he was right, it was a complication neither of them could afford.

  Casey took a deep, sobering breath and looked down at the collapsed table and otherwise-empty yard below them. The sound of a motorcycle off in the distance told the rest of the story. “He pulled the perfect escape, you know, and got me to help him break his fall. He’s not only lucky, he’s good.”

  “And it’s gravel down there, so there won’t be any tire tracks to compare with the ones we have in evidence,” Ashe noted.

  “He seemed tall enough. Do you think he could have been the killer?”

  Ashe nodded somberly and reached for his two-way radio. He called the local sheriffs department, reported the break-in and gave them the brief description they had on the suspect.

  Casey retrieved the denim jacket she’d snagged from the perp from off the floor of the balcony and began looking through the pockets. “No papers, ID or anything. But I suppose it’s to be expected. A man would have his license and such in his wallet. It’s too bad. I was hoping for a break. This jacket seems ordinary, too, so I doubt it’ll give us anything definite, even if we manage to track down the store that sold it. But it does have a tobacco smell to it. That is a possible link to the killer. And maybe there will be some fibers on it from the ski mask.”

  “Our best bet is still to track down his boots, and hope they weren’t purchased mail-order instead of locally,” Ashe said. “Did they give you a list of stores around here that carry that brand yet?”

  “No, but I was assured I’d get one this morning.”

  “I’ll prod them, if you’d like.”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  Casey sighed as she stared at the balcony thoughtfully. “They’re never going to let me hear the end of this back at my office when I file my report. I’m lucky I didn’t drop my weapon, hanging over like I was.”

  “That’s your pride talking. You literally went overboard trying to apprehend a possible killer.”

  “Having this guy get the best of me still stings.”

  “It’s only one battle. We’ll go talk to the neighbors, once the deputies get here to process the scene.”

  “We also need to find and talk to the woman who lives here,” Casey said, reaching for her notepad. “Mrs. Garwood.” She looked up at Ashe. “Which brings me to an interesting question. How did you end up coming here? Do you know Mrs. Garwood?”

  He nodded. “Mrs. Garwood is a Navajo friend of my foster parents. She married an Anglo and lived here off the Rez, but she was like an aunt to all of us. I wanted to ask her if she’d heard from Fox.” He paused, then asked, “How did you know about her?”

  “I saw the G page was missing from Fox’s address book. I couldn’t ignore the possibility that the killer might have taken it, so I asked around until I got the name of someone Fox might have listed there.”

  Casey was about to say something more when she heard a muted cry behind her. She spun around and saw a middle-aged Navajo woman standing just outside the door to the hall. Shock was evident on her face.

  Ashe moved toward her. “It’s okay. There’s no one here now but us,” Ashe told her.

  Casey approached and identified herself. “Mrs. Garwood?”